Desire's Bride

By Teresa Howard

SHE VOWED TO RESIST HIS CHARM

When Kathlyn McKinney saw Brad Hampton, her heart immediately began to race. Eleven years after that fateful summer, he was as dashingly handsome as ever -- but this time she wouldn't be taken in by him. Desire had made her reckless once long ago, but she was no longer an innocent girl who could be fooled by a Southern gentleman's easy charm. Still, not even the bitterness of his betrayal could extinguish Kathlyn's memory of the sweet rapture she'd known with Brad. And she couldn't ignore her own treacherous yearning for the warmth of his strong embrace and the tender magic of his kiss. . .

HE VOWED TO CLAIM HER LOVE


When Brad saw Kathlyn again, he found that the years had erased neither his pain at her faithlessness nor his need to make her his own. Honor required that he now help the violet-eyed beauty who had been left alone and defenseless by the war. Yet how could he protect her if she refused to trust him? With the urgency of long simmering passion, Brad swore no one would harm his lovely Southern belle. He had to keep her safe, at least until he could tempt her into offering him the fiery kisses and caresses he well remembered and surrendering with him to the ecstasy of desires too long denied!

• Language: English
• Publisher: eClassics
• Release date: Nov 1, 1992
• ISBN: 9781601831880

Teresa Howard

Teresa Howard makes her home in Hoover, Al, where shares her abode with Gracie Jane, her furry dachshund friend. She is a life-long fan of science fiction and fantasy and her dream since childhood has been to see her books in libraries and bookstores.In 2000 Teresa participated in a Writers Workshops taught by the late Ann Crispin and has been a regular at DragonCon’s Writers Track led by Nancy Knight for many years.Though she was employed for many years as a technology coordinator and computer lab instructor in the Birmingham School System, Teresa’s passions remained writing science fiction and fantasy and researching genealogy. Many of her stories have elements of both. Her work covers a wide range of speculative fiction and has been published in magazines, anthologies, webzines, and on iPhone aps in the U.S., Canada, and the U.K.

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Longfellow

Prologue

River’s Edge Plantation

Athens, Georgia

July 4, 1855

The soft summer night was made for love, which was as it should be, for Christopher Bradley Hampton and Elora Kathlyn McKinney were snared in the web of first love. Hopelessly.

And it was wonderful . . .

The Independence Day picnic had been a rousing success; the celebratory ball was in full swing. Discreetly, Brad and Kathlyn slipped through the garden doors, stealing away for a moment of privacy.

A full moon overhead bathed them in rays of silver as they ran hand-in-hand toward the mammoth greenhouse. Their carefree laughter floated on cool night breezes, lost over the lazy Oconee River. They were deliriously happy. Just being together.

Yet tonight their moonlight tryst had an air of desperation about it; they had come to say goodbye. Their laughter died as the enormity of the occasion settled upon them.

I wish you didn’t have to go, Kat, Brad confessed as they entered the fragrant glass-house.

Kathlyn tilted her head back, until she could look him full in the face. The love warming her heart was evident in her eyes. I don’t want to leave. She raised a gentle hand and touched Brad’s full, sensual lips.

He kissed her fingertips then pulled her into his arms. He lowered his head, claiming her mouth, sipping, tasting, savoring, devouring, capturing her breath and returning it to her, mingled with his own.

Many frantic moments later he buried his face in her fiery hair. I didn’t know it would be this hard to say goodbye. For a long moment he just stood there, holding her. Finally, he stepped back.

He wanted to commit every inch of her to memory. Standing in a pool of light, she was so lovely: a halo of sun-kissed ebony hair, liquid iris eyes, pale porcelain skin delicately translucent, and rosy lips swollen and moist from his kisses. When her eyes filled with tears he cradled her head against his heart.

She grasped the back of his evening coat and pressed him ever closer. He was so big, so warm, so solid; he was her lifeline. What would she do without him? She was convinced that her innocent, young heart would shatter into a million pieces before the night was through. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. Tears sliding down her cheeks soaked into his pearl gray waistcoat.

Ah, honey, don’t cry, Brad crooned. At a loss with any crying woman, but more so with this fragile beauty, he ran his hand down Kathlyn’s spine, gentling her as if she were a skittish filly. She snuggled trustingly closer; waves of affection surged over him. He felt as if a giant fist were squeezing his insides. Past the lump forming in his throat, he tried to soothe her. Shh, baby.

I’m sorry to carry on so. Kathlyn sniffled, raising her head and losing herself in tender brown eyes.

Her breath stilled. He was too perfect to be mortal: six foot, two inches of rock-hard muscle, raven’s wing black hair, brown eyes that looked clear through to her soul, and animal white teeth flashing against his swarthy complexion when he smiled at her in that heart-stopping way of his. Could such a man really love her? It seemed too good to be true.

The last three months have been the happiest days of my life, she confessed with the honesty of a child. I’m going to miss you so.

Brad palmed her trembling chin with one hand and rested his other possessively on the small of her back. I’m going to miss you too, sweetheart. You’ve become very precious to me.

The heavy summer heat, trapped in the glasshouse after a day of brilliant sunshine, was cool compared to the scorching kiss he bestowed upon her then. She grew dizzy, wondering if her vertigo was caused by the heat in the room or by the cloying smell of hundreds of gardenias that weighted the air around them.

When Brad slipped his tongue past her lips, deepening the kiss, she knew full well that her vertigo was caused by the passionate ministrations of this man she loved. And she couldn’t get enough of him. Instinctively, she strained toward him, giving and taking what would soon be denied her.

The night sounds along the Oconee provided a symphony of nature for the young lovers. Their low moans and inhalations of breath deepened and accelerated in concert with God’s creatures.

Suddenly, Kathlyn pulled back to catch her breath, her hands resting lightly on his broad shoulders. You will visit at Christmas, won’t you?

If your Uncle Roth doesn’t get wind of my plans and shoot me first, he said, only half teasing.

She smiled weakly. I think he would find it difficult to out-shoot Clarke County’s prize-winning marksman. Not meeting his eyes, she fingered the blue ribbon he had just been awarded for the Fourth of July marksmanship contest.

Brad heard the tension in Kathlyn’s voice and regretted mentioning Roth. It bothered him more than a little that her uncle opposed their relationship.

He cursed silently. Why he brought up the only sore spot in their otherwise perfect relationship, he couldn’t fathom. He had wanted this night to be perfect, a night to remember in the lonely months ahead.

Dipping his head, he tried to kiss away the unpleasantness. It worked partially at best.

Uncle Roth only wants what’s best for me.

I know, honey. And he might be right. Perhaps I am too old for you. There was a seductive smile in his voice. But you sure feel like a woman fully grown to me, he growled, nuzzling her bare neck. He kissed his way up the column of her throat, paying homage to her cheeks, eyelids, and forehead. Until finally he took her lips beneath his own again.

Without removing his mouth from hers, he slid one arm beneath her hips, and captured her wasp-like waist with the other. Effortlessly, he lifted her to his chest.

The dark silence was broken only by the soft, moist sounds of their caressing mouths, the swish of her lavender silk gown against the white blooms, and his sure footfalls upon the stone floor, as with a singleness of purpose, Brad carried his love to a secluded corner . . . where their lives would be changed forever.

We can lie on my coat, he whispered, setting Kathlyn to her feet and shrugging out of his coat.

The obvious implication caused Kathlyn’s cheeks to burn. Before she had fallen in love with Brad, she had never even been kissed romantically. But as the summer had advanced, and her time left visiting with her cousin’s family had grown short, they had become quite daring in their expressions of love.

Still, thus far they had restricted their nightly rendezvous to kissing and caressing while fully clothed. When her shawl slithered to the floor with a seductive whisper, they both knew that tonight would be different.

Brad caressed her delicate features as if she were fashioned from the finest china. She moaned and closed her eyes. Sweetheart, open your eyes. She complied. Very, very softly, he confessed, I love you, Kat.

Kathlyn’s breath lodged in her throat. Finally, she breathed, I love you too.

He swept her against him. Joyously, they shared physically what was in their hearts. Panting, Brad held her with arms of steel. I want you so much it hurts, he moaned.

Kathlyn smiled against his shoulder. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it. I want you too.

Brad jerked his head back, staring intently into her upturned face. Are you sure? She was so young, so innocent. He didn’t want to pressure her to do anything against her will. At least his mind wanted to do the honorable thing. Various muscles throughout his body had different ideas; he was a mass of aching need.

Kathlyn felt Brad’s need as if it were a tangible thing. He was so close she could feel the heat from his body seeping through her thin gown. She felt as if she were a part of him, as if she didn’t know where his desire ended and hers began.

She was a lady, but with every frantic beat of her heart she wanted to become a woman. Brad’s woman. After all, she had given him her heart, she reasoned. Was her body more sacred than that?

So in answer to his query, she raised up on the tips of her toes and lightly pressed her lips to his. That chaste kiss was more erotic to him than any he had ever experienced. It prophesied the rapture ahead.

In one swift movement, steel-like bands bound her to his throbbing body; a low groan evinced the depth of his desire. Together, they sank to the floor, their world consisting only of the passion engulfing them and the love flowing between their naive hearts.

In their haste, Brad and Kathlyn didn’t take the time to undress. They merely shed or pushed aside those articles of clothing as necessary to complete their frantic coupling.

He skimmed her body with his strong hands, pleasuring her until she writhed and pleaded, for what she knew not. She grasped the front of his waistcoat and pulled him closer. He trembled with desire as he settled himself between her thighs.

He didn’t want to hurt her, but he knew that it was inevitable. It’ll hurt at first, baby. His mouth was against her ear when he spoke, though she didn’t hear him. She was too enraptured.

Slowly, he entered her, groaning from the exquisite sensation and the need to maintain control. He wanted to love her slowly, to initiate her gently, but in her excitement she arched against him, splitting the sheath that proclaimed her pure.

She gasped, stilling instantly. One lone tear told of her discomfort. When the pain subsided she moved gingerly.

Brad set the pace. Thrusting rhythmically, fanning the flames of desire. All too soon sensation exploded into a fiery inferno. Clinging and gasping, they sailed over the abyss . . . together.

They lay partially clothed, their cooling bodies still joined. Shaken, Brad acknowledged that Kathlyn had given him her most precious gift. Thank you, sweetheart, was his husky whisper.

He had been intimate with many women before. This, however, was the first time he’d truly made love. Unwittingly, Kat had taught him that lovemaking was not the same as having sex. Sex was exhilarating, but the physical expression of love brought with it a sense of responsibility.

A responsibility Brad warmed to. He was stunned by the intensity of these feelings. He brushed the damp hair off her brow and looked into her face. Are you all right?

Oh yes. Her face glowed with discovery.

Brad understood. Their eyes met and held. He experienced a wave of guilt. A lady as delicate and refined as Kat did not deserve to lose her virginity on the floor like an animal, with her maiden’s blood soiling the petticoats she still wore.

In that instant, he decided what he must do. He would declare his intentions to her uncle at the train station in the morning and ask her parents for her hand as soon as he could make the trip to Union Point. Then, he would ask her to be his bride.

Considering the degree of intimacy they had achieved, it was what any Southern gentleman would do; it was what Brad wanted to do; it was the least a lady like Kathlyn would expect.

A Christmas wedding would be beautiful. With the thought of having her as his wife forever warming his heart, he slid from her body. I’d best get you back inside before they turn the dogs loose on me.

At Kathlyn’s disappointed pout, Brad flashed her a very masculine smile. He was quite pleased with himself. And he wanted her again . . . already. Nevertheless, he would wait; Christmas wasn’t so far off . . . was it? Groaning, he set about rearranging his clothes before he lost his resolve, before he gave in and loved her as his eager body demanded.

Once they were dressed, he took her in his arms. Let’s not say goodbye, just good night. Tomorrow . . . at the train station . . .

He held her as if he would never let her go. She responded in kind.

Desperately, they shared one last kiss. Then without another word they walked from the place they would long remember. Never would either of them smell the sweet scent of gardenias without remembering the night they had lost a part of their hearts . . . forever.

The smell of gardenias would also evoke powerful memories in the mind of the enraged woman who remained behind. Trembling, Rachel Jackson, Kathlyn’s cousin, stood behind a shelf laden with overflowing pots.

She had witnessed the touching scene with murderous eyes. She wasn’t sure how, but somehow, she had managed to watch in silence.

Slut!—she hissed at her absent cousin—I’ll teach you to steal what’s mine.

Rachel’s father had cautioned her for a year now that Brad was just being polite in his reaction to her advances. But she hadn’t believed him, until now.

She stood with clenched fists at her sides, a look of grim determination sculpting her face. Damn you, Kathlyn. I’ll make you sorry you ever met Brad Hampton and lay under him like a common trollop.

July 5, 1855

Brad:

Last night was a terrible mistake. You took unfair advantage of my youth and inexperience. I can never forgive you for that. If you possess a shred of honor, do not attempt to contact me in any way. Kathlyn

July 5, 1855

Kathlyn:

Last night was a terrible mistake. I take full responsibility for my actions. Nonetheless, I don’t wish to see you again. Please allow us a shred of dignity and do not contact me in any way. Brad

There, that oughta do it, Rachel said smugly.

Folding the notes, she went in search of a messenger to deliver them to the unsuspecting couple.

Part One

The South

The mind has a thousand eyes, and the heart but one; yet

the light of a whole life dies when love is done.

—Frances William Bourdillon

Chapter One

Athens, Georgia

July 3, 1866

Eleven years later . . .

Elegant. That was the word to describe the Bank of Georgia.

And quiet. The cavernous structure was as quiet as a tomb. So quiet the silence seemed to press down from the chandelier-decked ceilings to the parquet-tiled floors.

Both words—elegant and quiet—registered simultaneously in Kathlyn McKinney’s mind as the bank clerk stretched forth his blue-veined hand. She settled into the chair he indicated, her gaze traveling throughout the bank.

The elegance of the bank surprised her. Surprised her, and quite frankly, repulsed her. In Reconstruction Georgia one would hardly expect a financial institution to reek of money. Old money, new money, Yankee money, whatever. But the Bank of Georgia did; it definitely reeked. And this irritated Kathlyn.

Actually, she never had liked banks, to say nothing of bankers. Even before the war she had believed these wealthy men and the institutions they headed were crooked.

Now since the South had gone to hell in a hand-basket and decent people were all but starving in the streets, she had developed a considerable distrust for anyone who had more than two coins to rub together.

Obviously the owner of this bank had a sight more than two coins and had no qualms about flaunting it. The crook.

Tilting her head, her glance continued about the room. A tall man with muttonchop whiskers leaned close to a teller’s cage and spoke in soft tones. She was amused, finding it funny how people speak quietly in a bank, almost as if it were a church.

Turning to Mr. Simon Percy, banker extraordinaire, she peeked at him through a thick fringe of lashes. That one would be totally out of place in a church. Saintly, he was not.

It was something about his eyes; she had always believed you could measure a person by the look in his eyes.

I’m sure Mr. Dunn will be along shortly. The slightly balding banker referred to the man purchasing Kathlyn’s property. In the meantime, we can become better acquainted.

Kathlyn’s eyes widened. There was no mistaking Percy’s subtle innuendo. His voice reminded her of a snake-oil salesman who had passed through Union Point when she was a child. She grew nauseated, raking him with her gaze.

Misinterpreting her intense scrutiny as a sign of interest, Simon flashed her a suggestive grin. The early morning sunlight, filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, reflected off an enormous golden tooth in the front of his mouth, momentarily blinding her.

There was movement behind his back. Squinting, Kathlyn watched a large, oaken door slowly open. Due to the glare, she couldn’t see who opened it, but apparently Simon noticed and knew. She caught the anxious—or was it irritated—look in his eyes.

Suddenly, he became unfailingly polite, washing the suggestive tone from his voice. Even the hungry look flashing in his ferret-like eyes dimmed.

Still, Kathlyn felt uneasy. Her black-gloved hands trembled—much to her chagrin. She despised weakness, especially in herself. Even if she did have a good reason to be distressed, she couldn’t afford the luxury of weakness.

If only she could . . .

She sighed. I trust all the papers are in order for the liquidation of my family’s property, she queried, striving to keep her voice steady.

She managed to maintain a grip on her self-control, but not without a struggle. After all, it wasn’t everyday that a person disposed of the sum total of her ancestors’ holdings. A familiar sense of guilt assailed her. She pressed her reticule against her midriff, applied pressure to her steel stays, halting the flight of butterflies—butterflies the size of riverboats.

Just sign the papers, take the money, and go, she chanted in her mind for the umpteenth time. Don’t think, don’t feel, just do it! You have no other choice. It’s miraculous you’ve held on this long. Papa would understand.

The thought of her late father brought a sheen to Kathlyn’s eyes. Stop this nonsense! she ordered herself silently, clenching her teeth until her jaw ached. Tears, she simply wouldn’t allow.

She had cried only four times since she was sixteen years old; at the deaths of both her parents and each of her two younger brothers. Through the years she had taught herself to withdraw, to insulate her emotions from the cruel realities of the world. She had survived the war by doing it. And she would maintain control of her emotions and survive this.

I assure you they’re in order, the banker answered finally, barely keeping the defensive edge from his voice. Why else would I have asked you to come here?

Why else indeed? Simon could think of another reason, but it wouldn’t bear close scrutiny. Just looking at the ethereal beauty across from him was painfully arousing. Her rigid posture and bland expression were a blatant challenge to his seductive powers.

But he would have to wait until later. He knew his boss, whose office was located at his back, could hear every word he said. So for now he would play the chivalrous gent.

Not only could Brad Hampton hear every word Simon uttered, but by opening his office door and placing himself in a position to get a clear view of his clerk, he could see every movement the weasel made. He couldn’t see the unsuspecting customer.

Brad ran an agitated hand through his dark hair and stiffened with resolve. Just because the war had destroyed nearly everything else in the South was no reason for its inhabitants to abandon the genteel manners and devotion to honor generations of Southern parents had instilled in them. And as long as he owned the Bank of Georgia, he would see to it that this bit of the Old South was not forgotten.

Idly smoothing the folds of his elaborately tied cravat, he leaned a muscled hip against the windowsill, peering around the drapes that covered the windows fronting his office. Then he shifted, stared blankly at the tanned hand that held the burgundy velvet aside, and winced at the thought of eavesdropping on an employee. Various complaints had been leveled against Simon, so Brad felt compelled to keep an eye on him. Still, he didn’t like engaging in such a questionable practice as spying.

But the honor of his bank was at stake.

Muffling an oath, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He had had this argument with himself all week. It always ended the same; the honor of his bank must be upheld. Keeping an eye on Percy was the lesser of two evils in his estimation.

That resolved once again, he tuned in the conversation taking place beyond the curtains.

Simon’s customer was a woman. Her soft voice was husky and decidedly southern. There was an edge to it, as if she were holding herself in check. It sounded vaguely familiar, but Brad couldn’t place it.

She was probably just some poor widow whose husband had died during the war, he decided. A ray of sunlight kissed the plain gold band Brad wore on his left hand, drawing his attention.

She could be Celia. If he had died and his wife had lived, that woman could be Celia, at the mercy of a man like Simon Percy. His grip tightened on the drapes.

It was an unsettling thought. Not because he was unduly disturbed by the remembrance of his wife’s death; he had come to grips with his loss.

A smile softened his masculine features. The memory of his life with Celia was more like a beautiful dream now than a tangible part of his everyday existence. It no longer hurt to think of her. Rather it provided a pleasant, sweet sensation, like so many memories of life before the war.

After returning from the war, Brad had taken the money he had invested in California and Europe and worked sixteen hours a day to reestablish his bank. No doubt, it was this hard work and the love of his daughter, Annadru, that had healed the scars left by Celia’s passing.

What sickened him most was, now that the war was over, women like Simon’s customer had no one to protect them. Instinctively, his chivalrous nature came to the fore. Dragging his eyes from his wedding band, he listened more intently.

It was then that Simon and the woman stood to greet the buyer and Brad saw the object of his concern. His jaw dropped open. Straightening away from the window, he scanned her from head to toe—a relatively short span—with his smoldering brown eyes.

Nostalgia tugged sharply and the eleven years since their separation melted away. Brad was affected more than he cared to acknowledge.

She had been a girl then; now she was a woman. He’d thought her lovely before; now she was beautiful.

She wasn’t a classic beauty, however; she was more. Her heart-shaped face was so delicately sculpted that at first glance it seemed unable to contain those starry-lashed eyes and full, pouting lips.

How well he remembered the perfectly arched brows that cut across her lily-white skin—skin which Brad knew she guarded with bonnet and parasol as Southern women were wont to do.

Her face was framed by a soft profusion of mahogany wisps. Beyond that he couldn’t see her hair, for it was netted into a chignon. Instead of disguising her beauty, her primly concealed hair only added an element of mystery to her allure. But it was no mystery to him. Many was the time he’d freed that hair from its demure prison, spilling the silken mass over his hands. His skin tingled with the remembrance.

He stood mesmerized. Her deep ebony hair and violet-blue eyes brought to his mind a brilliant kaleidoscope of colors shot through with golden streaks of illumination. Surely it was an illusion created by the light slanting through the windows, but she looked so compelling, so vibrantly alive, that, involuntarily, he took a step toward her.

Introductions of buyer and seller were made, pleasantries halfheartedly observed, and once again she was seated, out of his sight. Brad was stunned by the bereft feeling he experienced when he could no longer see her. Kathlyn McKinney had been a summer fling to him, nothing more, he scolded.

There he was, congratulating himself for being over his wife’s death, and then longing for a woman he hadn’t seen in eleven years. A woman who had acted as if she loved him, a woman who had cast him aside like yesterday’s newspaper. He deemed such feelings unacceptable. Actually, they scared the hell out of him.

In self defense, the slight cynicism he’d developed during the war reared its head. He had been without the pleasures of a woman too long. He would visit Lois after he and Jared finished at the tavern tonight and not give Kathlyn McKinney another thought. Lois was the kind of woman who satisfied a man’s needs for a coin, without emotions getting in the way. Yes, that’s all he needed, a torrid session with Lois.

Would you care to read the contracts before you sign them? Simon asked Kathlyn weakly, his voice penetrating Brad’s thoughts.

Something about his employee’s tone of voice alerted the businessman in Brad. He wondered if Kathlyn detected it. Dammit! why doesn’t she have a man conducting her affairs?

Despite the belligerent tilt of her jaw, she had looked so helpless standing between Simon and the flashily dressed carpetbagger. Didn’t she know how treacherous business in the South had become? Uncharacteristically, Brad cursed again.

All three men waited expectantly for Kathlyn’s answer. She wasn’t as naive as they supposed. She knew that women, far more worldly than she, were easy prey to men with far less intelligence and financial stability than the two confronting her.

No, her problem wasn’t naivete. The sad fact was that women of her generation had not been taught to exist in a post-war world, if such a skill was possible.

Yet while she was a victim of her background, she readily detected the reluctance with which Simon made the offer to view the contracts. Obviously, he had something to hide.

She perceived the same wariness in the buyer, Mr. Dunn. She cut her eyes in his direction, purposefully delaying her answer.

She didn’t like the man to whom she was selling her home any more than she liked the banker orchestrating the transaction. The fact that Dunn was a Yankee had nothing to do with it. Her father and younger brothers had fought valiantly for the Union themselves, so Kathlyn had no aversion to Yankees. Quite the contrary.

She disliked him, among other reasons, because he was the head of the local Freedman’s Bureau. This Federal agency, established in 1865 by the U.S. Department of War, was admirable in its aim. Ostensibly, it was to provide assistance to the newly emancipated Negroes and needy whites as well.

In reality, the local agency was nothing more than an instrument of power for unscrupulous carpetbaggers and scalawags; they used it for their own economic and political gain. It was rumored that the funds earmarked for food and medical supplies lined the pockets of men like Percy and Dunn—and probably the owner of this ostentatious bank—while the unfortunates being denied these resources were packed into squalid cabins where smallpox, tuberculosis, and typhoid ran rampant.

Rage at these men and disgust at herself for dealing with them licked at the edges of her self-control like tongues of fire devouring dry leaves. She trembled as if she were chilled, yet was cognizant of the perspiration pooling beneath her arms.

For a split second she entertained the idea of bolting to her feet, hitching her skirts above her knees, and running out the door; transaction be damned.

Don’t be a goose. Sign the papers, take what little money they offer, and go. Don’t think, don’t feel, just do it! You’ve got debts to pay and the only way to pay them is to deal with the devil . . . or devils as the case may be. You have no choice; honest people don’t have any money these days. You deal with crooks or not at all.

These sentiments mortally wounded Kathlyn’s pride. But more was at stake than her own self-esteem; her family’s reputation was in jeopardy. She was the only McKinney left now. She was responsible for the McKinney’s debts and only she could clear the McKinney name.

Then she would be free to move on. She could make a new life for herself, away from the unhappy memories of the South.

Remember, it’s the beginning of your life. It feels like the end, but it isn’t. True—your family’s dead, your home’s being sold to strangers—but it’s the beginning.... Right! Somehow she wasn’t convinced. She only hoped she wasn’t selling a part of herself along with her home.

Kathlyn hated feeling uncertain. If only there was someone she could trust, someone to turn to, someone to advise her. But there wasn’t. Her uncle was too ill, and her cousin, Rachel, was no wiser in the business world than she.

In the back of her mind she remembered trusting someone in Athens a long time ago, and getting a broken heart for her efforts. Kathlyn felt a familiar pit forming in her stomach.

Why did she have to think of him now? As if things weren’t bad enough, she had to remember the time in her life when she had been most gullible, the time she had been betrayed in the most heinous fashion. It was probably her overwhelming sense of impotence that brought it to mind now, she decided.

Well, she was no longer an innocent, ignorant girl, anxious to trust the first man with a kind word and a handsome face. She was a woman now. And she didn’t trust men like the two confronting her—or the one who had betrayed her—any further than she could throw them. And she never would.

Still, there was no point in delaying the inevitable; the die was cast. No, she refused Simon’s offer of reading the contracts in a clipped tone.

I would like to see them, came a deep voice from the office of the president, drawing three sets of widened eyes in that direction.

Kathlyn’s hand flew to her throat.

You! she accused.

Chapter Two

Years later, when Kathlyn recalled this moment in time, she was quite certain the earth ceased its rotation. Everything froze: the customers milling throughout the bank, Simon and Dunn, the breath in her lungs, her mind, her heart.

Everything, but Brad Hampton. As if from a great distance, he moved toward her, growing larger and more threatening with each step. Until finally, he stood before her.

So close she could smell his familiar scent of soap, spicy cologne, and fine tobacco. How could she remember a fragrance she hadn’t smelled in eleven years? And how could it still affect her so?

Damning her eyes, she drank in the sight of him: he was larger than she remembered, taller, more imposing. The years had been kind to him. His wide shoulders stretched the fine navy fabric of his frockcoat, his impossibly flat stomach looked as if it were made of steel, his muscular thighs were encased in rich, fawn trousers, and his hips . . .

Her heart raced with the speed of a runaway freight train; he resembled a Greek god even more now than he had then. She had hoped a young girl’s impressionable heart and the intervening years had distorted her memory. But such was not the case.

Brad Hampton was everything she remembered and more: a man born to wealth and position, a man whose every word went unchallenged, a man who possessed more than his share of panache.

Like a kettle of boiling water, emotions churned through her. Feelings she’d thought long since buried rose and threatened the carefully constructed wall she existed behind. Instinctively, she placed her hand on her lower abdomen.

The gesture, full of meaning to her alone, jolted her to her senses. She stiffened ramrod straight, a full six inches separating her back from the chair she perched on. With a force of will, she schooled her expression and raised her gaze to his eyes.

Her earlier thoughts came back to taunt her: You can always measure a person by the look in his eyes. Brad Hampton was a flesh and blood exception to that rule.

In their black depths she saw everything and nothing: charm, cynicism, concern, indifference, strength, vulnerability, intelligence, arrogance, and ruthless determination softened by exquisite tenderness. Almost any emotion one could imagine could be found in those hypnotic eyes, blended together to be totally undecipherable. Damn him.

Brad watched the emotions slide across Kathlyn’s face and wondered at the thoughts that gave rise to them. If possible, the haughty expression she was struggling with now intrigued him most. Fool that he was.

He didn’t want to be intrigued by this woman. He wanted only to see that she was treated fairly and thereby preserve the honor of his bank.

Turning away from Kathlyn abruptly, he spoke to Simon. Please bring those papers into my office.

How dare he dismiss her so casually!